


Did you know it's possible to fall in love, and then to fall in love again?

by Flossie



Series: Canon Compliant HashiMadaMito [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alcohol, Canon Compliant, Combat, Domestic, Falling In Love, Fluff, Light Crossdressing, Little bit of angst, Multi, Weed, but it's not yet, even the best ones, hopefully this is going to become a porn at some point, men are trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-07-28 14:05:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flossie/pseuds/Flossie
Summary: When the Hokage is as young and bronze and toned as Hashirama Senju, not to mention as free and loose with his love, sometimes the Hokage’s wife needs to go somewhere she shouldn’t be seen. In Mito Uzumaki’s case, this means disguising her identity and drinking at a lesbian bar on the Uchiha side of town. Because it's literally the last place Tobirama would ever think to look for her.cn weed, alcohol





	1. Ama-no-Iwato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> // cn alcohol/mito gets blackout drunk

_“Sorry I can’t come home - Hokage business - might be away for a while”_ read the note propped on the low wooden table in Mito’s sitting room. She didn’t even bother reading it, she knew all of Hashirama’s excuses by heart. Not that it mattered, they had a mutually beneficial agreement. What he did on his own time was his business, what she did on her own time was hers. He only left the notes so his disagreeable brother Tobirama, who lived in the villa with them and had arranged their marriage, would leave them alone. So, Mito did what she often did on her nights alone. She fitted a short black wig over her flaming red hair, painted her lips and eyelids, and dressed herself up in a flimsy blue kimono that accentuated her still-beautiful-but-not-for-long-i’m-almost-thirty-goddamn-it curves. She threw on a dark blue haori and slipped out the door, into the quiet village night. She wove through the lush gardens outside of the villa, avoiding any part of the path that could be seen from Tobirama’s window. She knew what he would say. It’s why she wore the disguise. She was the Hokage’s wife, she couldn’t be seen like this. But, when the Hokage is as young and bronze and toned as Hashirama Senju, not to mention as free and loose with his love, sometimes the Hokage’s wife needed to go somewhere she shouldn’t be seen. In Mito Uzumaki’s case, this meant disguising her identity and drinking at a lesbian bar on the Uchiha side of town. Literally, the last place Tobirama would ever think to look for her.

Wednesday night were trivia nights at Ama-no-Iwato, and although Mito knew nothing about Uchiha trivia, she liked to sit on with her friends as they answered questions. Tonight was no different, she sat with Kurao, Jiro, and Nori, and bought them rounds of cold sake and honey wine as they answered questions, mostly wrong. Mito was starting to feel lazy from the alcohol when she noticed a stranger sitting alone at the bar. She pointed them out to her friends, and Nori gasped quietly. “If I’m not mistaken, that right there is my brother-in-law, Madara.”

Kurao and Jiro clamored, “THE Madara?” “The one who founded the village?” “The first to obtain the eternal mangekyo?” “The man with the strongest susano’o?” “Who fought for twenty-four hours to protect our clan from those dirty Senju?”

Nori opened and closed her mouth a few times before answering weakly, “Yeah, that Madara.”

Mito squinted at the person nursing a pint of beer, coarse black hair in an untamed mane down to their waist, wrapped in a dirty indigo kimono with the Uchiha crest on the back. “So I guess that’s not who my husband is fucking tonight?” she whispered.

Luckily, that comment went unnoticed, as Kurao, Jiro, and Nori didn’t know about Mito’s double life. If they had known she held proximity to the dirty Senju… well, she didn’t want to think about what would happen then.

“Nori,” Mito said, louder this time. “Go invite him over here! I bet, as head of our clan, he knows a lot of Uchiha trivia! Plus, he looks so lonely over there.” She jostled Nori’s arm until the woman got up and swayed over to retrieve the stranger.

Mito’s thoughts were out of focus and racing, and she gripped the edge of the table with white fingertips, trying not to fall over. She was very drunk, and she was about to meet the man her husband never stopped gushing about. The standard by which she was measured every day in her life with Hashirama, here he was, walking towards her. His hair was everywhere, and his one visible eye had deep creases and heavy bags under it. From where she sat, he didn’t seem all that special.

He didn’t seem very special when he joined them at the table, either. He and Nori had a strange relationship, they were always glancing at each other and cutting off each other’s thoughts. Kurao and Jiro tried to ignore the awkward newcomer and keep playing the trivia game, and Mito had outdrunk herself. She was still clinging to the table, and it slowly began to don on her that her shoulders and neck were holding too much tension. She was a princess—princesses don’t carry unnecessary, inelegant tension in their backs. Focusing all of her energy on her posture, she released all the tension…. and fell out of her tall chair.

With the swiftness of a trained soldier, Madara’s sharingan whirred on and he slipped out of his chair to catch the falling Mito. She couldn’t focus her eyes, so all she saw was some kind of bright red light. The bar was noisy with the shouts of her friends, or of the music, or of the trivia announcer… they all crowded into her brain and she couldn’t sort through it. She could feel the smooth, worn leather of Madara’s gloves on her waist where he had caught her. She tried to blink a couple of times, but each blink felt like it took all the effort left in her body. All the lights in the bar shown to bright, and all outlines were fuzzy. “I… needto go home,” she slurred.

Madara asked where her home was, but the three Uchiha women admitted they didn’t know. Explained that Mito was very secretive, but judging by the quality of fabric she wore, she probably came from such-and-such street in such-and-such district on the Uchiha side, and was probably related to so-and-so.

All the lies made Mito’s head pound. She scrunched her eyes closed, trying to make it all stop. Then, without meaning to, she whispered, “Madara, take me home.”

He shrugged at Kurao, Jiro, and Nori. They smiled and waved, telling him to take care of her. They all knew Madara was a gay man, so there was nothing to worry about.

 

Madara draped Mito over his slim shoulders, fireman style. His build was not bulky but his muscles were dense and incredibly strong; Mito’s 125 pounds felt like nothing more than a paperweight to him. He began to head to the street suggested by Kurao and Jiro, until Mito whispered for him to stop. “I’m… Hashirama Senju’s wife,” she slurred. It sounded like a lie. Even she knew it sounded like a lie, but her head was spinning and she didn’t know what to do. “Take off my wig, I’m Hashirama Senju’s wife,” she tried again, garbling the words with her clumsy lips and tongue.

Madara said nothing, but reached a gloved hand up to tug at the strange woman’s dark hair. Though he didn’t show it, he was surprised when the wig came off easily, revealing a head of that unmistakeable bright red uzumaki hair, tamed into tight pin-curls. He stuffed Mito’s wig into his pocket and began to undo a curl near her face. He slid the pins out and stashed them neatly in his weapons pouch, and then un-twisted the long strand of red hair. He rubbed it between his gloved fingers and studied it intently. Mito had no idea what was happening, but nonetheless didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. At this point, she just wanted to go home and sleep off the unpleasant drunk.

Finally, Madara spoke. “I’ll take you home. Is Hashirama there?”

“No… Tobirama though”

He grunted an acknowledgement and then tightened his grip on Mito. “He’s not a problem.”

“Mmm,” she hummed back, feeling very comfortable in his gloved grasp. As he began to walk towards her villa, she dozed off across his shoulders, one lock of red hair bouncing in front of her face.

*  *  *

 

Mito Uzumaki awoke alone in her bedroom, with a killer hangover. She couldn’t quite remember what happened last night. She had some faint memory of meeting her husband’s longtime boyfriend Madara Uchiha, but she figured that must have been some kind of a dream. She forced herself out of bed and to the bathroom, to clean off the smell of alcohol and bad sleep. She splashed water on her face and was surprised to find a single pin-curl undone, a single lock of red hair curled down into the sink. So either she undid the curl in her dream, or… she really had met Madara Uchiha, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell with me about these beautiful dusty lovers on twitter @akatsukislut!


	2. Sounds and Smells

Even on a lazy Sunday afternoon like this one, life at the Villa Senjuzumaki (ヴィラ千手ーずまき) was full of noise and smell and movement. A knife rhythmically hitting wood— _chop, chop_ —as Mito sliced vegetables for tonight’s curry. The soft shuffling and crackling of paper as Hashirama smoked a joint and read the news. The clacking of tiles as Tobirama and his young wife played checkers, until the kettle boiled and Tobirama rose from the table with a swish of robes, his bare feet tapped across the tatami floors and he poured tea for everyone. The small breaths of the baby Miyakoma(都間) asleep in his playpen. The buzzing of a single fly.

Tobirama brought tea to the table where his brother was sitting. “How’s the news?” he asked, breaking the pseudo-silence.

Hashirama smiled and closed the paper, joint between his lips, and folded it flat in front of him. He pressed the crease then took the joint and ashed it before holding it out to Tobirama and finally exhaling. “Nothing much I don’t already know, it seems like people are generally feeling positive about life in peace time, although there is one angry letter to the editor griping about taxes.”

Tobirama sighed and took the joint from his brother. He took a couple puffs. “Bullshit. How else does he think we’re gonna build a wall to fortify our settlement?”

Konohamei Sarutobi (猿飛木ノ葉美), Tobirama’s teenaged wife, slipped into he seat next to him. “Tobira-kun,” she said, “don’t swear around the baby, okay?”

“He’s asleep. It’s not like he knows what bullshit is anyway” Tobirama closed his eyes and exhaled, passing the dwindling joint back to his brother.

“Hey, what’s that?” Konohamei asked and took Hashirama’s newspaper. On the back, there was a trashy celebrity gossip section. She read a title aloud, her eyes getting wider with every word: “Hokage’s wife spotted in gloved stranger’s arms?”

The room was suddenly very quiet as Mito stopped her chopping. Then, the silence was over as quickly as it began, as Mito threw spices and aromatic veggies into a pan of hot oil, filling the kitchen with steam and smell and crackling and popping and hissing. Mito stirred too vigorously, the wooden spoon dully clanging against the iron pan. Which woke the baby, who started crying out loudly for attention. Mito was immediately thankful that the heat of the stove made it impossible to tell if she was blushing or crying or just cooking. “Hashirama, can you go check on him? I’ve gotta put these carrots on or they won’t caramelize.”

“Hmph.” Hashirama got up from the table and when he came back, Miyakoma in his arms, Tobirama and Konohamiko were still tittering over the back page of the paper.

“Bro,” Tobirama whispered, “I think she’s cheating on you.”

Hashirama tried to look surprised. “What? No way, the article must be wrong.”

“There’s a picture,” Konohamei rolled her eyes as if he was supposed to just know this. She showed him the paper, which indeed had a blurry black-and-white photograph of what was unmistakably Mito’s slim ass draped over Madara’s shoulder.

Still, Hashirama tried to protest. “How do you know it’s her? You can’t see her red hair, or her face. It’s probably just a light-haired Uchiha woman.”

“The author said sources close to the Uchiha swear up and down that they saw her red hair!”

“The author says what he has to say to sell papers,” Mito snapped from the kitchen. Her voice was so full of dormant power that the three at the table had no choice but to shut up. Hashirama looked up in surprise.

“Sorry, love, I—“

Mito poured broth into big pot, which bubbled and hissed so loudly that Hashirama couldn’t embarrass himself with another shitty excuse.

 

* * *

 

“You really met Madara?”

Hashirama knelt braiding his wife’s hair on their twin futons. The sheets were deep green cotton, grown at Hashirama’s family’s plantation in rural fire county. Mito wore a simple white silk-satin nightgown which showed off her elegant shoulders and was thin enough that you could see her tattoos through it if you looked closely. Hashirama wore an undyed hemp jinbei set.

“To be honest, I barely remember it. He was at Iwato for some reason.”

“The lesbian bar?”

“Yeah, the lesbian bar.”

Hashirama sat in silence as his large clumsy fingers worked through Mito’s waves. “I see.”

“He was very kind. He took me home. All I really remember is the feel of his gloves. And he touched my hair.”

“Mito, why were you so drunk?”

“Everyone was.”

“No, they weren’t.”

More silence. Hashirama tied off Mito’s braid with a leather thong and got up to snuff the lamp lighting their room. He brought a small candle back to the bedside, casting flickering shadows of their bodies on the walls. Hashirama tried again, this time gentler. “What’s wrong, my love?”

A single tear on Mito’s cheek caught the candlelight before it rolled down her face and plopped onto her lap. “It’s your cousin,” she whispered. “She’s… getting married.”

“To whom?”  
“I don’t know. I got the wedding invitation but I threw it out before looking at it. I can’t believe…”

“There, there,” Hashirama tried to comfort his wife. “Come here, Mimi. Let me give you a hug.”

Mito wiped her face. “Okay.”

Their two shadows became one as Mito shuffled over to Hashirama, letting him hold her in his beefy tan arms. Letting him kiss her neck, and then her chin, and then her cheek, and finally her lips. And his rough and hairy skin, his smell of morning dew and sandalwood, the way he touched her so gently she felt she could float away… it was intoxicating. She opened her lips to his and kissed him back. Pulled him down into their bed by the loose sleeves of his shirt and rolled atop him. She blew out the candle. Darkness, silence… besides the panting breaths, jangling of metal, a crack of an aloe leaf, the wet squelch of penetration, the swishing of cotton sheets, the slap of skin on wet skin, and finally Mito’s breathy moans as she reached her climax, atop her husband in the dark.


	3. Dinner Invitation

 

Monday, the card on the table said “Pick me up from work today—I have a surprise for you. XOXO 柱.”It hadn’t said something so intriguing in a long time. Mito tucked the card away in her sleeve, suddenly paranoid that Tobirama might see it, or that she might somehow jinx the surprise. Giddy, she cleaned up the kitchen, sealed the nights dinner into an icy scroll, and bounced to her room to get dressed up.

She chose a white linen kimono and then a heavier silk one in the earthy Senju green, she’d wear her husband’s color to the world and her Uzumaki white closer to her heart. Her maidservant Chessa dressed her, wrapped her in a thick white obi, and tied it closed with an elaborately knotted golden cord. Mito then tucked some good luck trinkets info her sleeves, and checked that all her sealing supplies were in place while her maid twirled her hair up into two buns.

“Big evening ahead of you?” asked Chessa.

Mito practically bounced. “Hashirama has a surprise for me!”

Chessa raised an eyebrow. “Now that doesn’t happen to often...”

“Oh shush.” Mito dabbed rouge on her cheeks and Senju green on her eyelids. “I’m ready for it, baa-chan!” she announced and bowed her head to allow Chessa to place a heavy golden tiara atop it. With the crown in place, Mito stood up quickly and ran out, waving goodbye. Never for a second was she thrown off balance by the weighty metal crown, never for a second did any of the equipment in her sleeves make so much as a clatter. Even in her excitement, her movement was economic and graceful, befitting of a fuinjutsu princess.

 

♡♡♡

 

Mito waited in the foyer of the Hokage office, posture perfect and hands hidden in her long sleeves. Hashirama’s advisor/cousin Toka Senju sat behind her desk, looking warily at Mito. Mito did her best not to look back. This was, of course, that same Senju cousin with whom Mito had shared a particularly steamy and emotional affair. This was the same Senju cousin whose wedding would have broken a weaker Mito’s heart. But today, sitting in silence in a room with her ex was going to be worth it. Because today, Hashirama had a surprise.

After many uncomfortably quiet minutes, Hashirama peeked his head out of the office door. “Toka, you’re excused,” he said with a quiet finality. She bowed her head, picked up her scrolls, and headed out. As she left, she looked back at Mito, but Mito didn’t look back at her.

Now that they were alone, Hashirama could speak. “Meats!! You came!!” he said, full of joy and movement as he left his office to embrace his wife. He wore the long red and white robes of fire county, which flowed around him sadly obscuring his hot, hunky form. Mito hugged him back, her coal eyes sparkling. “Of course I came, my love. How could I pass up a surprise from the Hokage himself?”

The corners of Hashirama’s eyes crinkled as he smiled his wide, kind smile. “Guess what the surprise is,” he teased.

Of course, Mito could sense intentions. So, if she wanted to, she could know without guessing. However, she decided to play along, and didn’t infuse any chakra. “Hmmm… you’re going to take me out for dinner?”

“Better,” Hashirama grinned and opened the door to his office. “We’re going to take you out for dinner!”

Standing behind the door, his usually-pale cheeks an unsightly color of red, was none other than Madara Uchiha himself. His coarse hair matted over his head and down his back, covering most of his face. He wore a heavy dark blue kimono similar to the one he’d been wearing at Iwato, but this one was much cleaner and freshly pressed.He looked, to Mito, like a very embarrassed demon.

Hashirama, on the other hand, had the energy of a puppy as he looked expectantly between his boyfriend and his wife. When neither of them said anything, he blurted in frustration, “I thought you two knew each other!”

Mito and Madara both tried to reply at once. “I—“ “Barely—“ and then both stopped. Mito shot Madara a disapproving look and then addressed Hashirama. “I’m sorry, my love, I didn’t expect this. What did you mean by inviting him here?”

Madara shuffled from side to side, uncomfortable.

Hashirama frowned, puzzled. “Huh? What did I mean? I don’t… don’t you think it would be fun to hang out, now that you both know each other?”

I mean, no, Mito thought, there was a reason she and her husband kept their dating lives separate. In fact, they had a whole agreement in which they decided it was better not to meddle in each other’s affairs, in exactly that sense of the word. She raised an eyebrow to Hashirama, enough to communicate that she thought this was a bad idea.

Hashirama paced his office, taking off his Hokage hat and placing it his desk. Looked at Madara and then at Mito and then back again, noting their uptight body language and how they were sizing each other up with their eyes. Then he got a very Hashirama(TM) idea. With one hand, he lifted his Hokage robe off his shoulders and threw it into his chair. Shook out his glossy brown hair. The Senju green kimono shirt he wore under the Hokage robe was dangerously low-cut, showing off the carpet of reddish-brown hair on his muscular pecs, and even giving his lovers a glimpse of his bronze, perfectly defined abs. He flashed his beautiful, white-toothed, winning smile. “Well, that’s fine, if neither of you want to join me, I can just go to dinner alone,” he laughed his sparkling laugh and then whisked out of the office, tan haori and long hair flowing gracefully behind him.

Mito looked at Madara. Madara looked at Mito. And the second Hashirama actually crossed the threshold of the office, both of them spun around and dashed for the door.

 

♡♡♡

 

Madara beat Mito to Hashirama, but Mito beat Madara to the restaurant. Mito was correct about the food Hashirama wanted to order, but Madara knew his drink of choice. Mito rested her forearm on the table and then leaned over it, showing Hashirama her cleavage. Madara kept finding excuses to get up from the table and turn around so Hashirmama could look at his butt. Mito showed off her humor, Madara showed off his smarts. When the food came, the real fun began. The waiter dropped off three small bowls of soup, the hottest available on the menu. Mito had ordered it with extra spice.

“Uzumaki are known for being spicy,” Mito winked at Madara and licked her lips.

“Well we Uchiha don’t give in easily to pain,” Madara retorted.

“I bet you cant drink all your soup.”

Hashirama’s eyes glittered. “Bet? Did someone say bet?”

Madara and Mito both ignored the silly comment, choosing instead to snarl at each other.

“I bet I can,” Madara announced, and raised a spoonful of his soup to slurp it delicately.

“HAH! You call that eating?” Mito challenged triumphantly, and lifted the bowl of hot soup to her lips, swallowing it down in great loud gulps. Madara watched as the muscles in her delicate neck moved up and down, working the soup down her throat. He traced the curve of her neck down to the high collar of her kimono with his eyes, suddenly regretting she was wearing something so suffocatingly formal.

Mito interrupted Madara’s thoughts by slamming down the empty bowl on the table with a loud “HA!” Her face was blushed light pink, her eyes and nose were watering, and there was red broth dripping down her chin. She dabbed the broth away daintily with a napkin.

“Hmph” was all Madara said out loud. “You never said it was a test of speed.”

Mito rested her hands in her lap and stabilized her energy. They were in public, after all. Instead of jeering at her rival-in-love, she smiled and cocked her head at him just slightly.

Her calm challenge pissed Madara off even more. “FINE!” He yelled. He didn’t notice that Hashirama had laid a hand on his arm to try to calm him down. He lifted the bowl to his lips and started to take a sip—only to yell and spit it everywhere. His face was the color of his sharingan, which glowed bright red. “What the fuck is in here, woman??” He tried to ask while keeping his tongue out of his mouth.

Hashirama nearly died laughing at the tomfoolery!

“Ghost peppers,” Mito responded coldly.

Madara stuck his tongue into a glass of ice water and his eyes faded back to their natural black. He was glaring daggers at Mito, but he couldn’t respond. His tongue was too inflamed.

“Honey,” Hashirama laughed, “was that really necessary?”

Mito frowned. “Was it really necessary for you to bring both of us out here? Are you just trying to rub it in my face that I’ll never be as good as him?”

Madara, tongue still submerged in the water, nodded emphatically and pointed at Mito. “Maah mahh mahma mah a haaa?” he echoed.

Hashirama stopped laughing. “Mito, you’re my wife and the mother of my son. And Madara, you’re my first love and a gift from heaven! It’s not a competition, I love you both!”

Mito and Madara protested, “Then why were you with him when Miya-kun was born?” “a wahh aha HAA wahha mammma mahaha ma ha?”

“Madara, can’t you just take your tongue out of the water?”

“nah-ah”

Mito glared at Madara. Even in her anger, she couldn’t help but notice that his tongue was long. Long and pink and soft-looking in the cold water. He was flicking it around in the cup, trying to get ice to touch the parts of his mouth that apparently hurt the most. His lips were rosy and plump from the effects of the spice… and Hashirama wasn’t a man of bad taste. Maybe there was something beautiful under the matted rat’s nest Madara was calling hair?

The main course of the meal arrived, a roast turkey. Hashirama went first, cutting two thick slices of the bird for himself. Then Madara dished himself a slice. Mito dished herself a thicker slice. Madara cut himself three thin slices, so the amount of turkey on his plate was just more than on Mito’s. Mito in turn took a big spoonful of stuffing, piling her plate higher than her rival’s.

Hashirama laughed. “It’s not a fair eating contest if Madara can’t use his tongue!” He jeered.

Mito considered this. She had no interest in competing unfairly. “Madara, come here.” She gripped him roughly by the collar and pulled him towards her, so they were face to face. Cold water dribbling down Madara’s chin. Hot breath on hot breath. For just a second, Mito saw fear flicker through Madara’s eyes, and that was enough for her. “I’ll heal your tongue for the price of a kiss,” she offered, sounding more menacing than charitable.

Madara did some quick mental calculus. He didn’t want to lose to Mito in front of Hashi, which meant he didn’t want to lose the eating contest. He also didn’t want to lose this... game of chicken? It must be a game of chicken, he rationalized, otherwise there’s no reason why why this disagreeable Uzumaki woman’s lips would be an inch from his. If it was a game of chicken, that meant that saying no to her offer of healing jutsu... would be losing. His eyes whirred red for a quick second as he pondered his options. Then, as if to take control of the situation, he put his gloves hands on either side of Mito’s face and pulled her in for a kiss.

The kiss was quick, and weird, and not great. Mito stuck her tongue too-aggressively into Madara’s mouth, honestly intending to heal his tongue with her touch. Madara instinctively tried to fight her off, approaching the kiss as if it were just another contest over Hashirama. Mito’s lips were thinner than Hashirama’s, and Madara’s teeth were sharper. Once she finished her jutsu, Mito shook off Madara’s hands and pushed him away. Tapped her lips clean with a napkin. Madara huffed back into his seat, and wiped his mouth disdainfully on his sleeve. When the two finally had the thought to look at Hashi, they saw him blushing and smiling brightly. “I knew you’d hit it off!” He bellowed in his too-loud obnoxiousboi voice.

Mito and Madara did challenge each other to a turkey-eating contest, which Madara won by, literally, a sliver. At the end of dinner, Hashirama suggested they go out for desserts, but Mito and Madara were both too frazzled from the competitive evening to consider it. And, Mito pointedly asked Hashirama to take her home. She smiled when he kissed her and said “sure” but scowled when he kissed Madara goodbye. She clasped his hand to walk him home as a final “fuck you” to the unwelcome Uchiha.


	4. Mito vs Madara ... !!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF this is aggressively unproofread help i need a beta

Mito shuddered inperceptibly as the cold air hit her face. Her body was warm enough, wrapped in layers of white silk, flannel, and oilcloth. She wore her hair down, trapping heat around her neck and ears. Her sandaled feet crunched on icy grass as she walked to the training ground, carrying a basket with hot tea.

As she drew nearer to the field, she could hear the thud of fist on flesh and the grunts and shouts of men in combat. She knew her husband was sparring with his lover, but she didn’t want to believe it, so she wasn’t infusing any sensory chakra. So when she actually got within seeing distance of the spar, she only felt a dull annoyance when she saw Madara, crazed smile ugly on his face, straddling her husband and laughing.

“You’re getting complacent, Hokage!” Madara was chiding, hot breath hanging as a cloud in the air, “Letting me win twice in a row!”

Hashirama didn’t have time to retort before Mito called them both in for tea.

 

Mito set the basket down and eyed the two men, who were wearing just their blue wool under-armor sets. “You’re cold.”

Hashirama opened his mouth to speak again, and Mito could see that he was already shivering. She cut him off with a wave of her gloved hand and demanded, “tea.”

Hashirama smiled, and the absolute warmth of it seemed to melt the snow around him. Without saying a word, he dropped to one knee and opened up the basket, removed the tea kettle, and poured cups of steaming tea for Mito, Madara, and himself.

“Thanks,” Mito said with a slight hint of a smile, and then held the cup to her lips with her right hand while she pulled a fat scroll from her obi with her left. Without seeming to look what she was doing, she unfurled the scroll and summoned two full-length cloaks, one in a deep Senju brown and one patterned in Uzumaki red and black spirals.

“Sweet! How’d you know to bring my jacket?” Hashirama practically bounced up and wrapped his cloak about him, pulling the hood over his sweat-drenched hair and sipping thirstily from his teacup.

Madara made no move for the red cloak. He took tiny, defiant sips of his tea. His intent was so openly hostile Mito could feel Kurama bristling inside her.

She tried to smile, tried to be civil. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

Madara didn’t even turn to look at her. “Uchihas don’t catch colds.”

Mito wanted to strangle him. The hair on her arms was standing on end underneath her heavy layered kimono and she noticed that she had inadvertently started infusing chakra. “If you catch a cold,” she said, voice barely level, “you’ll be of no use to my husband.”

Well, this got his attention. “ _Your_ husband?”

Hashirama looked pleadingly at Madara and placed a steadying hand on his forearm.

Mito couldn’t help but sneer. “Just put on the cloak, Uchiha,” she threatened, voice gravelly, whisker marks deepening on her cheeks.

Hashirama’s puppy-dog eyes widened into fearful ones and he put down his tea so he could grab Mito’s wrist. “Wife, please.”

“What,” Mito snapped back.

For a beat, the three of them stood there, dead silent in the snowy field. Mito infusing dangerous tailed beast chakra and almost vibrating with anger as she glared at Madara, Madara shaking from the cold but standing poised to pounce, every muscle in his body taut, and Hashirama holding each of their wrists in a large weathered brown hand. And somehow, of the three of them, Hashirama actually had the strongest presence. His chakra was huge, and all-encompassing, and extremely heavy. It restricted both Mito’s and Madara’s, subduing the tailed beast and slowing their heartbeats. When Hashirama let go of his lovers, they both blinked. Mito’s whisker-like scars were back to normal, and Madara’s hostile intent had vanished.

“Honey, please just put on the cloak. Mito’s right. I can’t have you catching a cold,” Hashirama cooed, and draped the Uzumaki-patterned fabric about Madara’s shoulders. Under Hashirama’s gentle hands, Madara didn’t fight back.

“Well, are you going to drink your tea?” Mito grumbled and poked the tea basket with her toe.

Madara harrumphed but let Hashirama pour him a cup and sipped it greedily. It was clear the man was very cold.

A moment of palpable silence in the snowy grove, and then the sound of Hashirama slurping his own tea. It was taking every ounce of self-control in Mito’s regal body to not attack Madara again, and now that she was infusing chakra, she could sense that it was the same for him.

Even for a non-sensor, Hashirama was aggressively oblivious. When he finished his tea he knelt to pour himself another cup and remarked, “It’s so nice to see you two getting along!” Mito bristled. And then Hashirama asked her gently, “Mito, my love, why don’t we have him over for dinner tonight?”

If Mito were a good princess, she would be a better liar. She would know how to nod her head and diplomatically submit to the demands of the head-of-house, how to smile warmly and serve tea and crackers to enemy warlords so her mothers could negotiate treaties with them. But Mito had never been a very good princess.

“I don’t want anything to do with that unwashed unmoisturized Shadow the Hedgehog looking ass! Let alone have him waltzing around _my_ house getting his—“ she waved her hand, “dirty hair stench everywhere! Have you ever washed that rat’s nest? It took me—“

“I’ve been in your house, infernal woman!” Madara shouted, fuming. He was even less composed than Mito, but still wrapped in the Uzumaki cloak. “But now that I know what an unsavory woman keeps house there, I have no interest in going back!”

Hashirama watched his wife and his lover, slackjawed. He was taken aback by the conflict, but, in spite of himself, kind of wanted to see where it would go.

“Unsavory woman?” Hissed Mito dangerously. A red, bubbling cloak of the nine-tails’ chakra overtook her body, and her long hair flew upwards with the force of the movement. Her crown didn’t budge. She flicked two tails of pure physical chakra behind her menacingly. Her eyes glinted red and the scars on her cheeks deepened into deep black marks while the diamond seal on her forehead glowed with a purplish-white light. Her voice deeper now, and coming from somewhere deeper in her body, she challenged, “those are some bold words coming from a dishonorable man!”

“Dis _honorable_? How dare you invoke my _honor_ when you flout your marriage and fuck my clanswomen?” Madara growled, weaving quick hand signs in his black leather gloves. His eyes whirred red and then into their characteristic kaleidoscope pattern, and dark blue chakra sent out from his body forming the shape of a ribcage around his entire body. The whole unkempt mane of his hair, as well as the fabric of the red Uzumaki cloak, whipped around in updrafts of hot chakra.

“I’m not flouting anything!” Mito shouted back, above the roar of crackling and bubbling chakra around their bodies.

Hashirama packed up the tea basket and shielded it and himself with a wood wall just in time, as Mito pounced at Madara with enough force to dig a well. Her cold chakra hissed and bubbled as it met the susanoo’s fiery ribs. Mito gnawed on a rib, mouth full of sharp fangs and eyes completely feral. Madara held his hands in the sign of the ram and tried to mold more chakra of muscle and tissue to keep her out, but Mito chewed faster than he could form it and she snapped the rib, creating an opening for her to pin him down to the ground, three red tails now flicking back and forth in the air. She smiled down at him, the Susanoo’s bone hissing and boiling between her teeth.

Which gave Madara the perfect opening, and he shouted “RELEASE!” to immediately dispel all of his manifested chakra. The bone disappeared from Mito’s mouth and her jaw clamped down on her skull hard enough to cause a minor concussion. In the confusion, Madara, easily pushed her off of him and hopped backwards, skidding to a halt in a battle-ready pose on the sparring field.

“Do you want to do this for real, little woman?” Madara teased.

Mito rubbed her jaw. “Take the cloak off first then,” she sneered. “We can’t have _my_ clothes getting dirty.”

Hashirama’s eyes opened wider as he sat on the wooden bench he had grown for himself, munching on tea crackers in the comfort of his own little wooden shell with a great view of the sparring ground.

“Fine,” spat Madara, and he threw the red cloak off his shoulders.

 

 

“Hashirama,” Mito addressed her husband without taking her eyes off Madara. “We’re going to spar now. Let me borrow your clothes.”

Hashirama laughed. “Come over here, babe!” He beckoned.

Mito approached him and let him untie the cord around her ribs, the yards-long obi, the heavy layers of kimono and the light underdress. She stepped away from the fabric and her body looked so very small next to her husband, at seven inches shorter than him and half his weight. She shivered slightly in the cold, but tried not to show that she was uncomfortable. Her rosy skin was all gooseflesh, her nipples small and pink and hard. Red hair stood up on her arms and legs and lower back and between her legs. Madara tried not to look.

Then Hashirama pulled his own shirt over his head, tossing the scratchy blue woolen thing to Mito. His chest rippled with the movement. Madara tried not to look. As Mito donned the baggy training shirt, Hashirama stepped out of his pants and tossed them to her. Now he was the one standing in only his underpants, as majestic as a statue, his hair moving slightly in the cold wind. Mito slipped into the pants and knotted the drawstring. “Thanks, darling,” she said and stood on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the lips before walking back out to the sparring field to meet a fuming Madara.

 

Madara couldn’t focus on Mito’s approach because he was watching Hashirama wrap Mito’s kimonos around himself to keep warm. Was watching the way his inner thigh peeked out when he crossed his legs, was watching the way his cheeks were rosy from the cold—when he was blindsided by a swarm of shuriken flying right towards his face! He ducked away with ample time to avoid them, but his sharingans did spin on. Now all of his attention was on Mito, his eyes glowing an evil red. Mito was glowing red too, having taken on the shroud of Kurama again. This time five tails whipped around her, and the coldness of the air only amplified the chill of her chakra. It seemed like the icy weather was giving her an advantage, so Madara concentrated his chakra in the soles of his feet, making them so hot they melted the earth around him, melted the whole training ground. In the second this threw Mito off-balance, Madara lunged to her side, knocking her back with a graceful kick to the cheekbone. Mito growled and raced back to her assailant on all fours, but it was clear the heat from the earth was draining her chakra with each bound. So, she attempted to toy with him, attacking him with all four tails at once, but he was able to dodge every attack. She couldn’t help but notice how graceful his movement was as he jumped and swayed and ducked to avoid her tails. She didn’t notice what Madara was doing until it was too late. With each dodge he had gotten closer to her, and by the time she noticed he was already at her throat. They traded a few blows before Madara easily overpowered her, and pinned her against a tree. He whispered something in her ear and then suddenly her body went limp and the shroud of the nine-tails melted off. Madara smirked and looked back at Hashirama, confident his genjutsu had done the trick. But while he was looking away, Mito regained consciousness and kicked Madara in the ribs hard enough that he dropped her onto the now-dewey earth. Madara hissed and spat blood. “Bitch!” he shouted and grabbed for Mito’s hair. “Side hoe!” she shouted back and dodged away from him. Her shroud had returned but now she was only sporting one tail, and its wagging was feeble at best. “The fuck you want with my hair, you lice-ridden——“ Mito was cut off by the worn leather of Madara’s glove at her neck, and by the tight grip he held on her windpipe.He was holding her up by the throat, her whole body dangling from his one hand. She tried to kick his calves but it was no use.

 

Madara noticed Hashirama rising from his seat and walking over to them. He noticed the way Mito’s kimonos barely reached his knees and the way the curly hair on his lower legs was standing up in the cold. He noticed the urgency and concern on the man’s face, but he just didn’t care. “Don’t you ever call me a sidepiece again, you ugly fox monster,” he was spitting at Mito through clenched teeth. “You’re not even faithful to the man you claim to love.” He jostled Mito, but her body just swung limply from his outstretched arm. “I don’t know what the fuck Hashirama sees—“

“That’s more than enough, Mr. Madara,” Hashirama interrupted, his voice tense and edgy. He guided Madara’s arm down so Mito’s feet could touch the ground, but when her body didn’t react, he took her from him and draped her in his arms. “You’re fucking lucky she’s not dead.”

Madara, still fuming, just looked blankly at Hashirama.

“My wife, Madara. She’s my wife. But she’s not a kunoichi. You were too hard on her.”

Madara’s eyes slowly faded to black and only then did he start to focus. “You’re too easy on her. She’s not weak. She broke out of my genjutsu. She broke my Susanoo. And her timing is… good. She’ll need to work on it, though, if she wants to improve.”

Hashirama opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. He petted Mito’s shoulder then looked over to the bench, where the cloaks and the tea basket, as well as Mito’s underdress, were piled.

Madara understood the look, and crossed the field to gather the garments and the basket. He wrapped the Uzumaki one around himself again, as the cold was starting to get to him. And he wrapped the other cloak around Hashirama and Mito. When he finally spoke, it was more subdued, calmer. “I did not kill her. She will be fine. Let’s go home and get you out of those silly kimono.”

Hashirama smiled and issued a half-hearted protest that he thought Mito’s clothes were cute on him, but followed Madara back to the Villa Senjuzumaki.


End file.
